In the Morning
by lena1987
Summary: Complete. A series of drabbles detailing morning exchanges over the years. Rated M. Severus needs coffee, Hermione provides the inappropriate entertainment. M for light language.
1. Chapter 1

**In the Morning**

 _Grimmauld Place, 1997._

Coffee.

The first need (need, not want) is always coffee.

He ambles down the stairs, shoulders slouched. The stairs creak out their complaints about his daring to utilise them so early in the morning.

The kitchen is in sight.

Lower still Severus descends, eyeing the door that holds the first cup of morning salvation. Everything about him is perfectly acceptable – coat, robes, trousers, boots. He never will take any chances in the old mutt's haunt, after all.

He places one hand on the handle then pauses. The faint hum of magic clings to it; a silencing charm, perhaps, or –

Severus cannot find any fucks to give. Not before coffee.

One twist of his wrist has the door open and –

No. No.

Not _again._

This time, he allows himself just a few seconds to indulge.

The music is deafening and terrible. It sounds like the shite he confiscated from the third year half-blood just a few short weeks before, purely because of the headache inducing beat that had greeted him one evening in the common room.

But she…

Ah, she.

 _Her._

She stands at the sink. Her hands are busy but her hips…

Those hips.

They swirl and curl, gyrate and shake.

They provide a fabulous stage for her arse to _shine_ in all of its youthful –

 _Too young, too young, too bloody young…_

"Miss _Granger_!"

For the third morning in a row, she drops the cups into the sink. The surprised, circular shape of her lips as she whips around could almost be believable.

"Sorry, Professor Snape," Granger mumbles, hurrying past him in a whirl of messy hair and flannelette pyjamas.

Her fear would almost be palpable, Severus thinks, if she didn't stop and look him up and down on the way out.

 _Far, far too young._

He adds an extra teaspoon of coffee into the mug.

X


	2. Chapter 2

_Ha, fine! A drabble series it is, then. Make note of the year and location. More to come after Christmas, along with the next chapter of the Lilac Tree._

* * *

 _The Burrow, 1999_

Of all the decisions he has made since the end of the war, agreeing to stay the night at the Burrow is one of the worst.

One of the _worst._

He wouldn't have splinched himself Apparating – of course he bloody wouldn't have.

Severus is very confident, after his Hangover Potion, that he would have performed the three Ds seamlessly.

Molly disagreed. Arthur disagreed. The twins agreed, which is enough to make him think that perhaps it was wise to stay here after all.

And here he is.

Coffee.

 _Coffee!_

He throws himself out of one of the bedrooms in search of his morning habit. It is a struggle not to gag as he passes bedrooms with doors still open; freckled buttocks and snores abound.

Finally Severus arrives at the kitchen – it is blissfully quiet, not a soul in sight.

With a groan of relief, he locates the tins near the kettle and fixes himself a cup. As a treat, he pops in two of Arthur's sugar pills. Humming along to an imaginary tune, his mood brightens as he plans his escape before the rest of the house awakens.

 _I've got you, under my skin…_

A dash of cold water into the cup, and he shuffles back and forth in the same bleary eyed dance that his good moods have always heralded. It happens more often in these post-war days. Often daily.

 _I've got you, deep in the heart of me…_

The water boils. His hips snap to the side, he clicks his fingers.

 _So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me…_

With a practiced move, he slides over to the kettle, coming to a stop with a roll of his shoulders. Two pale hands wave in the air as he levitates the kettle over his mug; more clicks of his fingers in time with the music, and the hot water is poured.

 _I've got you, under my skin…_

With a bow to the kitchen sink after his performance, Severus takes a long sip then turns around –

"Bugger."

"Oh, yes," Granger says from her spot in the doorway. She's leaning against the frame and her smirk is positively sinful. "Lovely show, Professor."

Cheeks aflame, Severus glares and makes to move past her. Hermione does not give an inch.

"Not your Professor anymore," he grumbles. "Move."

The witch, in a navy blue dressing gown this time, gives a small shrug of her shoulders. Her smirk widens; his lips twitch. Morning sun is covering her hair in a blanket of gold. He is very determined not to wonder where she's been hiding this morning goddess side of her, given how recently she wore school robes and attended his classes.

She's quite pretty, really. For a nineteen year o –

 _Still too young!_

"Out," he orders.

She leans forward. " _Make me._ "

Something within him that is absurd and stupid and childish responds immediately with a purred, "Don't ask that of me, Granger. Don't ask a wizard who hasn't had his coffee yet. That's a dangerous game."

Hermione will try to call his bluff – she's too brash not to. Indeed, the witch tosses her mane of gold over one shoulder and grins. Her brown eyes gleam. "Make. Me."

He sighs theatrically. Of course he really could choose a different method, but where, then, would the fun be? He likes her like this: like a little spitfire. "You asked for it."

Her shrieks of indignation as he casts a silent spell that sends her in the air then over his head and into the kitchen – _purple knickers! –_ are met with a dark, gruff laugh. She lands in a chair with a scowl.

"Why, you – " she cries, all fire and blustering crackles of magic, " – you, you… argh, Professor!"

"Tut, tut." He taps his nose. "Not your Professor. Cheerio, Granger."

He's out; his mood has been saved; it's going to be a fabulous day. He sips his coffee again as he starts heading back up the stairs to retrieve his coat and –

"I could bounce a sickle off your bottom, you know. All that dancing every morning – it's paid off. Very nice."

His Apparation is immediate and ungraceful. He arrives in Spinner's End with the cup still in his hand and her devilish laughter ringing in his ears.

The move has spilled most of the coffee.

Bugger.


	3. Chapter 3

This is the last one! Thank you, lovely readers. Enjoy!

* * *

 _The Tea Room – Level three, Ministry of Magic, 2000._

Hermione Granger pushes through the door marked 'Staff only' and makes a beeline for the sink.

"Bloody misogynistic twits!" she mutters, glad that there is no one present so early in the morning. "Bag of dicks, the lot of them!"

Lowering her voice, she grabs a clean cup from the top cupboard and sneers, "'Hello pretty lady, I've got a tiny penis and no balls to speak of, and because of that, I'm getting promoted before _you!_ ' Honestly!"

"Honestly, indeed."

She drops the cup and shrieks, whipping around in surprise. "You!"

Severus Snape lounges against the closed door and smirks. "Me."

"Oh, god," Hermione squeaks, too flustered to wave her wand towards the broken cup on the floor. Snape advances, one eyebrow lifted. One nonchalant wave of his hand has the cup repaired and in her grasp again.

There should be things to say other than 'oh, god,' but Hermione is at a loss. Truly, the only thing running through her mind is –

"It's been a _year!_ " And _damn,_ does he look good. She tosses her head, attempting to regain her equilibrium.

He shrugs his shoulders, the movement so graceful and fluid that she huffs. Trust the striking, arresting man to even _shrug_ in a manner that screams of sex.

"Yes," he agrees simply.

"What are you _doing_ here?"

He tuts and she wavers. Severus Snape has never truly unleashed himself on her before – every other time she's seen him alone, somewhat unguarded, has been due to her own devices. Truth be told, she rather used to like springing herself on him – watching that delectable, tight arse dancing in the kitchen at the Burrow, or making sure he was well aware that she wasn't a little girl anymore one morning three years ago in Grimmauld Place.

The tall wizard takes another step towards her. "Should I not be asking you the same thing?"

Hermione falters. "I was… erm… ah…"

"Attempting to evade a bag of dicks?" he supplies in a helpful tone, black eyes glittering as he draws out each word.

"Well, when you put it that way…" she mumbles, suddenly flustered. "Yes. They're on level four, and I wanted a coffee in peace." Drawing on what's left of her courage, she looks him in the eye and demands, "And what are _you_ doing here? Aren't you supposed to be working –"

"On level two, yes." He takes the cup and leans around her, setting it back on the counter. Both draw breath simultaneously as the front of his robes graze her chest.

She harrumphs and places two small hands on her hips, her breasts jutting out as she scowls, though it lessens when his gaze flickers downwards then back to her face. "I was going to say that, you know."

"Were you?"

One more step and their bodies are so close that she could close the distance now and finally feel for herself how soft the buttoned, black robes that adorn his body are. Sure that such a thing would be tempting fate, Hermione shifts awkwardly on her feet and tucks a stray curl behind her ear.

"That doesn't answer my question."

His eyes soften. "No, it doesn't. I thought… I thought you might be here."

"What?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

"No, I heard you," she dismisses. "It was more of an exclamation. You know, because it's been a _year._ " When it seems that no response will come from the smirking man, she crosses her arms. "I still have your coat!"

"I know," he says softly. His tone makes her blink with surprise, and then she offers him a small smile which he returns almost immediately. She likes this… whatever it is. "I came to get it back."

"Oh…" Disappointment reigns. "Really? Is that all?"

"In a manner of speaking…"

"Oh?"

"Are you capable of saying anything other than 'oh'?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Well, finish what you were going to say."

"Ah. …"

"Well?" she prods, tilting her head with a grin. "Hmm?"

Suddenly hesitant and almost ungainly, the man who has haunted her dreams for years swallows thickly and nods. His lips scrunch up and he glowers with concentration as he blurts out, " _Iwantedtoaskyoutobringmycoattodinner._ Oh, bollocks. I wanted to _ask –"_ He gives a short, mortified humph and steps back.

In the face of her warm and welcoming smile, he turns to flee the room but Hermione, in a fit of brilliance, reaches out and holds onto his robes. So soft...

"I'd love to," she declares winningly, morning coffee and misogynistic bosses completely forgotten. "I'd really, really love to."

After a stunned, quick bark of laughter, Severus sobers and nods again. "Right… right. Well… all right, then. Good."

"Oh, and Severus?" Hermione calls after he has bowed awkwardly and headed for the door. He pauses and looks at her over his shoulder, just the hint of a true smile on his lips.

"Take me dancing."

She will remember his bright red flush of pleasure for years to come.

* * *

 _The End!_


End file.
